Decorus Phasmatis

Riley: That was weird. Very, very weird. I have a ghost in my house and his name is Eric. There is no other explanation. It’s Sunday afternoon and my friends have gone home. None of us mentioned anything about the ghost after Gina packed up the Ouija board, except that just before they left we all promised not to tell anyone about Eric.

I haven’t felt at home in my house ever since. I can’t get changed without thinking that someone might be watching me. I wish Gina had never brought that Ouija board, and yet she did, and now I’m left wondering about Eric. It must sound crazy but I want to talk to him. I already know he is here, and maybe if I can talk to him I won’t be afraid.

Eric: Riley is at school. She will be home soon though, and I am going to talk to her. I decided last night while she slept. I read her diary, just one page, the one she wrote last night. She wants to talk to me; she said she would rather know. I lie on her bed and read one of the books she took from the library. I am an experienced ghost. That’s why I can lift things, objects. I cannot feel them though. I cannot tell if they are hard or soft, rough or smooth, I can only tell if they are light or heavy. It was torture before I could lift things. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I could do anything, touch anything. My fingers would just slide right through what ever object I desired. It isn’t so bad now that I can read and write and lift things. Hell, I could even knit if I wanted to. I’m hoping it will be even better once I talk to Riley, if she can accept me.

Riley: I’m home from school. Nothing was mentioned about ghosts or about the sleepover at all between Laura, Gina, Mandy and I today. It was just like a normal day, except for the faint tension that subtly reminds us that we experienced something strange on the weekend.

I walk into my room and the first thing I notice is my book. I cry out a little in fright as I watch it floating in mid air above my bed. As if in reaction to my cry the book closes itself and sits gently on the bed. I realise what is happening and I find my voice.
“Eric?” I ask softly. Nobody else is home, but it is the only small amount of voice I could manage to produce.
“Riley,” a male voice replies. In sync with the voice a body materialises. I stumble backwards as I watch it appear. Eric is about six feet tall, maybe a little bit shorter, he has what looks like blonde hair and emerald green eyes that fit in perfectly with the rest of my room. He is wearing long black pants, and a white button up shirt with the two top buttons undone. He looks like her is dressed quite formally until you look at his feet. He is wearing black Converse. Although I can see him he is transparent, I can see right through him.

“Oh my,” I whisper. This is not normal, not normal at all.
“Please don’t be afraid,” he pleads with me.
“I’m not afraid,” I assure him. The truth is I’m not; I’m just a little unsteady. “I knew you were here, I said your name.” I remind him.
“I know you did. I’m just sorry if I frightened you. You know, floating book and all.” His bottom lip twists down guiltily.
“How long have you been here?” I get straight to the point.
“A while,” he replies.
“Oh,” I have had a ghost in my house for ‘a while’ and not known about it.
“I- I- I wanted to talk to you. I wanted you to know I was here.” He explains. “You must thank your friend Gina for bring that Ouija board to your party on the weekend.”
I nod.
“Are you sure you’re not afraid?” he asks. I must look nervous. I am, but I try not to show it. I plop myself on my bed and cross my legs, being careful not to let him see up my skirt.
“I’m not afraid. To tell you the truth I was very curious.” Eric laughs.
“You are not a normal girl, Riley Burnett. Most girls would run away and beg their parents to move house.”
“But I’m not afraid of you,” I say. “You said you were good…unless you lied?” This possibility has occurred to me but I brushed it off. Why would a ghost lie about being good? It doesn’t seem like the usual bad guy thing to do.
“I didn’t lie. I would never hurt you, or anyone. Plus, ghosts can’t lie.” Eric informs me. I find this very interesting.
“Really? That must be hard.” Eric laughs again.
“It’s not too hard actually. I don’t talk to people much.” He smiles and he looks very handsome.
I hear the front door close behind someone and the shuffling of plastic bags on the bench.
“Riley?” Mum is home. I throw a quick glance at Eric.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and run out to greet my mother.